


No Rest For The Wicked

by Aurora313 (orphan_account)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherhood, Death Knight, Death Knight order hall, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I don't like how the Order Hall went down so I decided to make up my own version, Order Hall re-write, World of Warcraft Legion, World of Warcraft: Legion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25088632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Aurora313
Summary: The Battle of the Broken Shore was bleak. Many losses were incurred on all sides. The Ebon Blade has also lost an important ally of their own, but the desire for retribution is a feeling they know all too well, and they are more than eager to direct their wrath to the Burning Legion.
Relationships: Amal'thazad & Darion Mograine, Darion Mograine & Maxwell Tyrosus, Tirion Fordring & Darion Mograine
Kudos: 12





	1. News from the Broken Shore

The missive rested in Darion Mograine’s hands. Despite the numerous times he read the thing over, it didn’t shift the incredulity he felt towards the words. It was almost completely impossible to comprehend, but he knew the hand that wrote this would not lie. 

An Ebon Knight novice delivered it to him hours ago from the Light’s Hope Chapel. The novice had been labouring as a stonemason to aid in constructing a new perimeter wall around the secluded sanctuary and sure up its defenses. Another one of many suggested exercises from Tirion Fordring, helping maintain a spirit of cooperation between the two diametrically opposed orders that the Ashen Verdict helped foster.

The letter itself had been penned by Highlord Maxwell Tyrosus, the leader of the Argent Dawn and in its contents was a recounting of the battle of the Broken Shore. After the Legion had made numerous inroads and attempts at establishing a foothold across the Eastern Kingdoms or Kalimdor, they settled for a font of power known as the Tomb of Sargeras. The letter informed Mograine of the events of the battle. Though the Ebon Highlord had heard the reports from his own Knights - those who bore first-hand witness to events of the Broken Shore - and though they bore the same commonality, seeing the words in ink somehow impressed the truth upon him all at once.

Tirion Fordring was dead.

Highlord Mograine had dismissed the Death Knight some time ago and remained in silent contemplation since. No matter how many times he re-read the simple script, a feeling in his long dead heart wished for the ink to magically shift and reveal a different tale.

His teeth grit under his helm, a mix of rage and frustration and grief stirring in his cold chest. “Why did you have to go it alone, you stupid old man? If you had only asked, I would’ve brought all of Acherus into the fold.”

The rhetorical question hung in the air unanswered. He knew why the craggy old bastard wouldn’t call upon him. It had nothing to do with arrogance, or thinking that he could handle the threat alone, and everything to do with the fact that Darion would do exactly that. And in all likelihood share the same fate as Tirion. 

As a Paladin, as the second Ashbringer, and as a personal friend, Tirion wanted to keep his Death Knight counterpart out of harm’s way. Maybe even out of some sort of misguided paternal affection? 

“Damn you, old man…” Darion muttered under his breath, shredding the parchment between his fingers and with it, his anger towards the Ashbringer seemed to disappear into the void. “I hope you find some rest, Tirion. Light knows you deserve it.”

If _anyone_ in this world earned their rest, it was Tirion Fordring - A champion without peer, a close friend. And perhaps, in a way, a second father. 

“The Legion has much to answer for…” The Highlord growled, a cold dead anger surged in his chest and his brows knitted together in a deep scowl as he watched the parchment scraps sweep away with the wind.

“Highlord, a moment if I may?” The Lich Amal’Thazad requested humbly, floating gently towards the master of the Ebon Hold. At his side, a Student of Frost stood with a wooden slatted board in the crook of his arm, dozens of papers were stacked on it, an ink well set in a flat at its top and a quill in the student’s spare hand. No doubt he was acting as a scribe for the discussion.

“Now is not a good moment to test my patience, Amal’Thazad.” Mograine informed him tersely, “Make it quick.”

“We’ve received word that the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, has been appointed the new Warchief of the Horde.” Amal’Thazad explained.

“New Warchief?” Darion questioned, glancing up at the Lich, “Then Vol’jin of the Darkspear has fallen in combat?”

“Killed by infection from a Fel tainted blade. Additionally, Prince Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind has become the King with King Greymane and Prophet Velen acting as his chief advisors.” 

The Highlord shook his head. He’d heard that report as well. “The Alliance’s High King is dead, and the new King is a boy so green he pisses grass. The Horde’s new Warchief is a ruthless sociopath. And the Argent Crusade has lost their Highlord. The Burning Legion will suffer for this.”

“More than that, our agents in the Horde and Alliance ranks report that the funerals of both High King Varian Wrynn and Warchief Vol’jin were infiltrated by demons. Attacks that sparked riots in the capital cities.” Amal’Thazad went on morosely.

Darion Mograine growled in frustration, “Of bloody course. Demons have no honour or decency. Naturally, they’d spit on that which is held sacred by the living. So, how were these infiltrators detected? I imagine they were infiltrating through some form of guise - Unless Orgrimmar and Stormwind have a few new sunroofs?”

The scribe stifled a snort of amusement but Amal’Thazad continued his report as though he hadn’t heard it. “A faction of elven warriors released from the Night Elves’ Vault of the Wardens. They call themselves the Illidari. They are demon hunters, trained by the renegade Demon Hunter Illidan Stormrage. They lent their aide to uncovering the demons and have now established pavilions in both Orgrimmar and Stormwind.”

The Highlord’s head turned only fractionally towards the Scribe, “I don’t need to tell you to send out an offer of alliance with these Demon Hunters? They would be valuable assets in the war to come.”

“It's already been done Highlord.” The Scribe inclined his head politely.

“Good.” The Highlord turned his attention to Amal’Thazad once more. “Have you sent any more diplomatic envoys to the Banshee Queen yet? We will be needing our missing brother’s aide in this war to come.”

“Yes, I have the signed and sealed letter here.” Amal’Thazad took a proffered letter from the Scribe.

“Give it to me.” The Lich did so, and Mograine promptly tore it in half. “His confinement is an outright and ongoing insult to the Ebon Blade. Diplomacy has gotten us nowhere and the Banshee Queen’s refusal to listen has left us little choice in the matter. Summon Thassarian. I know whatever else he’s been doing, he’s been attempting to scope out routes of infiltration into the Undercity. More than that, he grew up in the area and is familiar with the lay of the land. We will need his expertise if we are to--”

The Highlord was abruptly cut off. At that moment, all of Acherus seemed to draw to a complete stop. A chilling thought, like ice down all their spines, brushed against the consciousness of every single Knight, inside Acherus and out. Without fail, every single one of the Knights recognised and were revolted by the invasive caress upon their minds.

Darion was simply one of the first to voice it in bitter tones. “So, it appears the Lich King wishes to open negotiations to bring his errant Knights back into the fold.” 

“That appears to be the case, my lord.” Amal’Thazad removed his skeletal fingers from his brow, recovering from the intrusion into his own mind. 

“Summon all of our forces across Northrend, we will need every able body we can muster. In the meantime, I will see to negotiations with our… _potential_ benefactor.” The Highlord ordered, making his way to the teleportation platform that’d take him to the upper level. 

“It shall be done, Highlord. Suffer well.” Amal’Thazad bowed from the waist before quickly floating off, issuing brisk commands to his Scribe who wrote his instructions down fervently. 

With an application of runic power, and a quick incantation, the teleportation pad instead deposited Darion Mograine at the summit of Acherus. There, a projection of the Lich King seated atop the Frozen Throne sat in silence, waiting for him. 

Darion’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the magical image, irked though he was at being summoned like some sort of dog, he could not deny the aid of a potentially valuable ally. “I’m listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I didn't like how a lot of the Legion Order Hall quest line went for the Death Knights. I don't mind what they had to do, so much as the reasoning towards WHY they did it. So here I am trying to make a more cohesive narrative for the quest chain. I'm not changing the major beats, just expanding the context around them. 
> 
> I'm also actually making a reason WHY the Four Horsemen were as revered/desired by the Lich King as they were. And it will be explained when I get to that point.
> 
> Also, Tirion was like Dad 2.0 to Darion and ya'll can fight me on that.
> 
> I welcome any comments or criticisms,
> 
> Regards,  
> Aurora313


	2. Bets and Legacies

A bargain was struck atop the summit of Acherus, and preparations were already underway. The Knights of the Ebon Blade were being recalled from every corner of Northrend and beyond as the necropolis made its journey to the frozen north. There, it hung above Icecrown Citadel. Like bees returning to their hive, bone griffons and frostbrood dragons were making steady runs back and forth between the Ebon Hold and its various outposts across the continent, ferrying the last remaining Death Knights under Archerus' banner home.

Lady Alistra and Lord Thorval were the ones assigned the task of coordinating the relocation and recovery efforts while the Highlord was attending to a sensitive matter of his own. Though the true nature of his departure was already known. After the Lich King's audience, Highlord Mograine had retreated to the sanctuary of his chambers, demanding that no one disturb him but eagle-eyed Knights and novitiates spotted the robes of the Ebon Watcher departing Acherus through a Death Gate.

In the Highlord's place, the master of the Unholy arts, Lady Alistra and the Lord of Blood Thorval had assumed the administrative duties and tasks required to handle the current undertaking.

"The Lich King wants to name one of us his Champion and Hand." Lady Alistra mused out loud for the fourth time in as many minutes, attempting to prompt some form of conversation from her Blood trainer contemporary.

This time, Lord Thorval finally decided to grace her with an answer. "Yes, that seems to be the rumour floating about. But I pay no heed to idle gossip. Sign of a bored and unoccupied mind. I believe our talents are better served attending to our task."

"There is such a thing as multitasking. And just because we are dead, that doesn't mean we have to be so grim all the time, Thomas."

Thorval's lips pressed in a thin line, unwilling to be drawn into idle prattle.

"Let's make a wager, Thorval." Lady Alistra prompted, leaning heavily against the command table where they worked.

"A wager, you say?" The Master of Blood mused out loud, an eyebrow cocked.

"Fifty gold coins says the Lich King chooses Ophelia Rutherford for his Champion. Or Ophelia Nightsorrow or whatever bloody fool name she's calling herself these days."

Thorval's pale face twisted in amusement. "One of Amal'Thazad's students? That shocks me, why not one of your own?"

The question made the elf flinch fractionally and he took great pleasure in a deep disdain that danced her features. No doubt, she was swallowing down a rather bitter dose of pride. "Because as much as I loathe to say it, the only candidate that leaps to mind is Calen Gaunt. And while I appreciate that man's… shall we say _enthusiasm_ \- the stupid mutt can't even tell his arse from his elbow half the time."

The Master of Blood laughed out loud at her remark. "I imagine that must be hard for you, admitting that your students don't measure up to one of Amal's. That bitter acidic feeling you're no doubt experiencing in the back of your throat - That's what's left of your pride."

"Actually it's a special plague batch I've concocted. Care for a sample?" Alistra let the threat hang in the air and Thorval raised his hand.

"I believe I'll pass. Thorval returned his gaze to his work, mulling over the possibilities in silence. "Although, if it were up to me - I would argue the Highlord would be the obvious choice."

"Mograine? Doesn't he have enough responsibilities on his mind, keeping this… conglomeration in line?" Lady Alistra idly waved her hand off to the side, vaguely meaning to indicate the entirety of Acherus.

Thorval hummed. "He is our leader. After Arthas' downfall, and barring the re-emergence of the Horsemen - he is the strongest Death Knight risen to date. And… he's the one this new Lich King made the pact with. Surely, he'd only be the logical choice."

Alistra waved him off with a scoff. "The Highlord's also too damn busy to fly around at the Lich King's beck and call. Pick someone else."

Irritation spiked in Thorval's tone. "Very well then. Since you refuse to let me have my first choice, Duke Lankral."

"The Shadowvault Commander?" Alistra hadn't anticipated that choice and pondered it for a moment, though she was dead certain that her choice was the correct one. And she was certain she was about to become fifty gold pieces richer.

"Aye. He's proven his courage, ingenuity and dedication to the Ebon Blade many times over. And I'm certain many times again before this war is done." Thorval replied.

"I'll take that wager." They clasped their hands, palm to wrist, in the old warrior's way.

* * *

It was done. One of their greatest brothers had been laid to rest and the Paladins within the order were paying their tribute to Tirion Fordring one by one. As much as Higlord Maxwell Tyrosus wished to remain, there was work to be done. And the Legion had made it perfectly clear that they were not willing to abide by the niceties observed by those on Azeroth. It was perilously obvious that they could not lower their guard even for a moment, lest demons and other dark forces find their way into their midst.

"Do you remember the first time you showed me this place, Tyrosus?" The voice was raspy and cold with an unnatural echoing quality, but there was no mistaking the voice of the Highlord of the Ebon Blade.

Lord Maxwell Tyrosus spun on his heel, hand swiftly to the pommel of his sword. In an alcove just inside the training chamber, stood a figure garbed in black and purple robes. A shroud covering his head just enough to disguise the unnatural Lich Fire that burned in his eyes. He was without obvious weapon, even without the typical armour that shielded him from the mortal world. Instead, he was dressed in simple robes.

It suddenly occurred to Tyrosus that he had been present throughout the entire funeral ceremony. For half a second, the thought outraged him but that was quelled swiftly enough by understanding.

"The last time I was here, none of this was constructed. The catacombs of those ancient heroes were little more than a hollowed out pit in the ground. You've certainly busied yourselves over the last decade or so since the Lich King fell." Darion mused out loud.

"You should have made yourself known," Tyrosus said, relaxing his stance though his hand remained on his weapon. "Nothing and no one would have faulted you for wishing to attend the funeral, save perhaps your reputation."

"I heard well enough from here. Besides I highly doubt that the forces of the light would enjoy the idea of a Death Knight in their midst. How long would it have taken for them to accuse me of wishing to raise him?" The Death Knight replied, his glowing blue eyes now focused on the Lord of the Argent Dawn.

"They wouldn't have had the opportunity. Besides, I think we're both intimately aware of what happened the last two times the undead hordes attempting a raid on this chapel."

"Oh I am aware. In fact, I still carry a token of one of those times."

The dark humour was not appreciated, but Maxwell didn't have the heart to chastise the younger warrior for it. He had no words to offer, not consolation or assurances, nothing that could come remotely close to being a comfort. "You have to understand their perspective. While I, and those who fought along side you, in the Argent Crusade and Ashen Verdict know you would never attempt anything untoward-"

"Impulse I understand, but one would think working together to defeat the Lich King would have earned the benefit of the doubt." Mograine declared, he shifted his weight and crossed his arms. His voice low and macabre. "In this instance, they would be thoroughly correct."

"What?" Maxwell Tyrosus spat in contempt, all trace of sympathy vanished in an instant. But any sense of anger or indignation he felt at such a casual admission died when he observed the Ebon Lord.

Though much of his face was still covered by his hood, Maxwell could see the glistening tears trail down the undead flesh of his cheeks. Darion tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"Its amazing…" He said, somehow keeping his tone neutral. "Tirion Fordring has done more for this world than almost every other hero of the age; if anyone deserves the peace of death it would be him. Yet here I am, wracking my brain for anything or everything that could possibly bring him back. Druids, Shamans, /Priests, other Paladins – hell, even that… Naaru in Shattath City – A'dal, was it?"

"Not raise him yourself?"

"Don't be absurd." Darion scoffed, offended by the very idea. "Whatever else I may be, Maxwell, whatever else I've become since my undeath, there are some lines even _I_ would not cross. Tirion freed the Ebon Blade during the Last Battle of Light's Hope. Repaying that freedom by sentencing him to an eternity of unliving damnation screams of selfish ingratitude."

Darion gave a sweeping gesture of the Hall of Champions. "Even if I wanted to participate in that insanity, there is no doubt in my mind that the light would obliterate any Death Knight moronic enough to try. In fact, I'm surprised that the Light has even allowed me to set foot in this place and not smote me for having the audacity."

"The Light guides us in our own ways, Darion. And if your intentions were anything but pure this day, I have no doubt it would have played its hand." Maxwell Tyrosus said calmly.

"Mmm." Darion made the non-committal sound in his throat before pushing out of his hiding place, making his way towards the stairs in the far end of the hall which would lead him to the chapel's ground level.

"There is one last thing, Darion." Maxwell hesitated to give voice to this topic, but wrestled with himself. It must be addressed. "The Ashbringer. We - we recovered it, however-"

"... Keep it." The words sounded like they were choking the Death Knight on their way out before he returned to his former imposing demeanor. "As much as I wish for the return of my family's legacy, I am indelibly a creature of darkness. And after all of the effort - the quite literal hell - I went through to see it purified, I will not risk tainting Ashbringer again. Grant it to a Paladin of your choosing - One that will befit my father and Tirion's legacies."

With that, the Ebon Blade Highlord departed from the Hall of Champions and Maxwell Tyrosus cast his gaze back down the hall, to the podium where Tirion's body rested. The Ashbringer rested atop the tomb, held in the grip of the statue likeness. The question was; who was worthy in the Paladin order to wield its might?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay. Part 2 is up! And Darion is totally not foreshadowing. Like, at all.
> 
> I welcome feedback and criticism,
> 
> Aurora313


	3. Emissaries and Hands

The Demons were relentless in their assault against the floating city of Dalaran. And the Death Knight known as Ophelia Nightsorrow would have dearly loved a few minutes in private conversation with whichever idiot decided to park it atop _Karazhan_ of all bloody places. Even though the events there took place during her time as a member of the Scourge, there was old superstitions about Deadwind Pass, about the Tower itself and the myriad of curses Medvih put on the place to preserve his ancient dwelling. Rumours of dark riders, relic hunters and other untold horrors milled about the place like old ghosts... not to mention the actual ghosts that permeated the walls.

While the Fel-pocked curs attacked from the skies, the ghosts of Karazhan assaulted the City from below. Transforming the upper and lower levels of Dalaran into battlefields of separate flavours. Despite the devastation against the City, the Violet Council - the Leaders of the Kirin Tor - had succesfully pulled off their gambit. Pooling their arcane expertise and power together into a mighty spell, they managed to teleport the city out of harm's way. Although, how long that state of affairs would persist was an entirely separate matter.

The Broken Isles, this place was called. Supposedly this was where the Pillars of Creation were interred millennia ago, and those ancient relics were the key to cutting off the Legion's access to Azeroth. At least, according to Archmage Khadgar.

While Ophelia dearly wished to ponder these notions further when the Kirin Tor Wizards had gathered all the able bodied warriors for a brief meeting, a chilling voice pierced to the very core of her mind. An unwelcome intrusion the likes of which she hadn't experienced in years. Not since Arthas was usurped from his throne, and Shadowmourne's blade severed his spine.

The Lich King. His icy touch left behind thoughts not her own. They were instructions, a directive to return to Acherus: The Ebon Hold. With a promise of power and weapons specifically crafted to the Legion's destruction. And a severe reprimand should those instructions be disobeyed. Ophelia's lips pressed in a thin line and her brows knitted together in a scowl. She bowed to no one but the Highlord of the Ebon Blade. She obeyed no orders unless they were from his lips, spoken in his voice.

But the allure of weapons to combat the Legion, of obtaining any edge they could in the defense of Azeroth, took precedence over whatever price the Lich King was going to incur of them.

"Damn it." The Death Knight hissed under her breath, striding with purpose to Krasus Landing where she summoned forth a Deathgate to take her to Acherus.

The Lich King likely set this task before her as some sort of trap. But was she the only one? Was this a directive sent to _all_ other Ebon Knights? If not, then she had to let her brothers and sisters know, and measures must be taken to ensure that not one of them would slide back into the Lich King's grip.

The last thing Ophelia had expected when she emerged from the Deathgate was the blast of arctic air in her face. Though her frost runes kept her body at a freezing temperature, the blast of wind was enough to stumble her for a moment - If only because it was unexpected.

"Northrend?" She had noticed that the transportation had taken perhaps a few seconds longer than it should have, but since when did their Necropolis move from its perch above Light's Hope?

Ophelia turned her Lich blue eyes out and cast her gaze over the balcony below. The place was so familiar to her, almost a home if such a thing existed for her, and it was disgusting. Shaking her head of the distraction, she made to move deeper into the Hold before noticing a second set of banners. Not those proudly worn by members of the Ebon Blade, but similar. A slight variation on the design which was similar enough to denote kinship but subtly different enough to show a divide.

Ophelia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The Unbound have returned to us? Just what in the hell is going on?"

Dread Commander Thalanor's voice cut through her surprise like a knife. The elf approached, not once taking his eyes off the vellum in his hands. "Yes, our Horde and Alliance affiliated brethren have returned to the fold but order of the Highlord. When the he calls - we answer."

Ophelia jumped on the new line of discussion, "Where is Highlord Mograine? I need to speak to him at once. The Lich King-"

Dread Commander Thalanor glanced up at her finally, "Yes yes. He's spoke to us all. Highlord Mograine has already negotiated our position, do not alarm yourself over the matter."

"Did he promise us all weapons, arms and armour to accompany us in the fight against the Legion?" Ophelia questioned sardonically. "More than that, did he promise to make everyone his hand? Or is that honour exclusively mine?"

The Dread Commander considered her for a moment before casting his hand further inside the Hold. "The Highlord is at the command table, discuss matters with him if it will set your mind at ease. And trouble me no further, I have business to attend to."

"As charming as ever, Thalanor."

Ophelia Nightsorrow made her way into the heart of the Necropolis where Highlord Darion Mograine leaned over the map of the Broken Isles. Four distinct locations were marked in dark blue ink, likely assault points, each labelled by a pair of names.

"Highlord?"

"Ah, Nightsorrow." Mograine straightened to address her. "So the Lich King has chosen you to be his hand? That's not surprising. We have all heard of your exploits."

"So, I take it that this was part of the bargain struck with Bolvar?" She watched as her Highlord circled around the table and moved past at a casual pace. Ophelia turned and walked in lockstep with him, where they made their way to the terrence. A docking ramp had attached the Necropolis to an upper platform in the Citadel's Spire.

As they walked past, Ophelia swore she heard snippets of an exchange between the masters of Blood and Unholy, which made her smirk.

"I told you it would be Nightsorrow. Now pay up."

"Bah. Fine, take your gold, cretin."

Mograine cleared his throat for her attention as they walked on. "Our forces across Northrend and beyond have been recalled to Acherus. When the call to action comes... and it _will_ come soon... the Knights of the Ebon Blade will be ready."

Ophelia's expression was grim. "You think this wise, Highlord? Casting in our lot in with the Lich King after we fought so hard to remove ourselves from his shackles?"

Darion turned to face her, his expression hidden behind his helmet. Even his tone came out as ruthlessly neutral. "Speak your mind. I will hear you."

"I don't _trust_ the Lich King. I don't think I need to remind anyone here about the last time we were dancing to his tune. He cast us to our deaths, and abandoned us like some hounds he didn't want anymore."

"This king is not the other. And there is one factor you need to keep in mind always, we are _not_ bound to this new Lich King, make no mistake on that point. However, he could prove a most valuable ally against the Legion. For now, our goals align with his. And it would also be in our best interest if the scourge stays... _contained_."

"That doesn't assuage my original point of - I don't trust the Lich King." Ophelia Nightsorrow declared, then turned to the Highlord of the Ebon Blade. "But if you say this is the way, Highlord. Then I'll obey."

The response was unexpectedly low, somber sounding. "This is the way."

Ophelia looked at her Highlord and nodded. Her trust in the Lich King was now a non-issue. Her Highlord had given her a directive and, as always, she will see it through to the bitter end.

"The Gates of Icecrown lie to the north. Do not keep our new ally waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Ophelia is my DK main. In case that wasn't clear.
> 
> I welcome feedback and criticism,
> 
> Aurora313


	4. The Horsemen and The Deathlord

Amal'Thazad poured over the tomes bewitched to float in the air, his gaze flicking between them as he re-familiarized himself with the incantations and spell craft within. Moving Acherus from its perch to the roof of the world was already a staggering effort that taxed Amal'Thazad and his portal mages significantly. Moving the Ebon Hold to the Broken Isles, however? That was an entire matter.

This space was so completely infested by Fel energies that the very air itself was tainted. Tainted by insidious magical wards, demons and other monstrosities that make the Scourge's foulest creations seem like childrens' playthings. And the corrupting energies spewing forth from that font of power called the Tomb of Sargeras? Well, that challenge left nearly every single one of the Ebon Blade's portal mages either collapsed on the floor, gasping for air or doubled over in exhaustion.

It was a mercy then that the Ebon Blade's disciplines differed greatly from the Scourge in some regards. For one, this weakness was not punished with swift beheading or ghouls devouring them while they were still conscious. Amal'Thazad found his magics similarly drained, but unlike his disciples who were still of flesh and blood, so to speak, he was not taxed by their physical exhaustion.

"Archlich," Disciple Percival inclined his head politely as he approached, "Forgive the interruption, but Highlord Mograine has requested the presence of all his sub-commanders and the ranking officers. He awaits you and the other Masters of the Arts in the Hall of Command above us."

"Our presence, you say? Did the Highlord grant a reason as to why we are summoned?" The Lich would go of course, but some idle curiosities were harmless.

"He says its a matter of strategy and tactics regarding our campaign against the burning legion. And the matter of the... _collaboration_ with the Lich King." Disciple Percival answered.

"Yes, I imagine that a great many of us have been rather curious about the precise details of that arrangement ever since the bargain was struck." Amal'Thazad hummed to himself, pondering. "Very well. I shall make my way there immediately. Return to your duties, Disciple."

"Suffer well, my lord." Percival bowed his head once more and hurried off at a run, no doubt to summon the other ranking officers.

By the time Amal'Thazad had arrived at the Hall of Command, nearly all the other senior ranking knights were waiting. They had milled about privately, sharing in hush conversation with each other. Between them, they would share accounts of the battles at the Broken Shore, or the many invasion points that afflicted the main continents long before the Legion set their sights on the Tomb of Sargeras.

It appeared that Amal'Thazad was the last to arrive, a point that chaffed on his pride, since as soon as he took his place along the other two masters the Highlord began his address. He stood as still as a statue, and sans one important detail. His helmet. His helmet was curiously absent. Perhaps a symbolic gesture to his Knights that he was laying the truth to bare for them. Even without the cold saronite faceplate, his expression was a mask.

Though the Lich had known Darion was young at his death and raising, he had never known quite how young. The Highlord was perfectly preserved as a young man on the cusp of manhood, no older than perhaps nineteen or twenty summers. But his baring and marble-like expression showed the truth of the seasoned commander behind the youthful blond's appearance.

Authority carried in his voice as much as the necromantic echo. "As many of you know, we have entered a tenuous pact with the Lich King. I know that you all question this decision, some of you may even harbour resentment towards the situation, but I believe you should be made aware of the factors involved as a whole."

"So, we're correct in assuming this goes beyond the Lich King offering us arms and armaments?" Lord Thorval inquired, eyebrow raised.

"Indeed. The Lich King has threatened to unleash the full might of Northrend's undead host against the Burning Legion and the Broken Shore. While that's exactly as pleasant as it sounds, unlike us, he will not be so considerate towards our allies. His armies will reap devastation across any and all misfortunate fools crossing his path along the way." The Highlord explained, "The pact I made ensures that the Lich King can fight using us as his proxies."

"'Do our jobs, or I'll do it for you.' - Is it safe to assume that about sums it up?" Thassarian chimed in,

Mograine made a sound of acknowledgement in his throat. "Effectively, yes."

"Then how is this arrangement any different than when we bound to the Lich King's will?" A Tauren Death Knight named Garaddon chimed in.

Garaddon was a member and one of two representatives of the Unbound, the sect of Death Knights who re-pledged their loyalty to their factions over embracing the Ebon Blade's neutrality. At his side was Lyrias Shadowweaver, a Night Elf Death Knight and the Alliance's representative of the Unbound who nodded grimly in agreement.

Darion Mograine spoke, meeting the Tauren's gaze evenly. "It's different in that we have a choice. We can choose to act as the Lich King's agents and bring forth destruction upon the demons with minimal losses to our living allies on both sides of this arbitrary divide. _Or_ we can stand aside and let the Lich King slaughter everything in his path on the way to destroying the Demons that assault our world."

"It isn't much of a choice so much as its a guillotine above our heads." Lord Thorval complained, crossing his arms over his chest. "Admittedly, a great many of us care nothing for our living counterparts, but none of us want to see them destroyed outright."

"Speak for yourself. I for one would think it hilarious." Lady Alistra shrugged dismissively,

"You forget yourselves. Should the Lich King unleash his hordes to quell this invasion, raise the dead of both sides and then turn his attention towards his errant knights, we will face a war on many fronts. There is a word for such a thing: 'Surrounded'." Amal'Thazad counselled sagely and Alistra snorted derisively in response.

"I agree the situation isn't ideal. But we will suffer through. Such is our lot and we will embrace it, as we always have." The Highlord declared. "As we speak, the Lich King's chosen Champion, Ophelia Nightsorrow, is facing the trials laid in Icecrown to procure a weapon that will help bring an end to the Legion. At this time, that is what we must focus our attentions on."

Darion Mograine leaned over the centre platform and pulled two rolls of vellum from the stack, both sealed with wax. "Archivists Illana Dreadmoore and Zubashi have found credible leads on two other artifacts we can employ against the Legion's forces."

He handed off the first roll of parchment to Lady Alistra. "Alistra, I want you to send your finest Unholy Death Knights to scour the catacombs of Karazhan under Deadwind pass. The Wizard, Medivh, has a collection of powerful magical items and tools stashed under his tower. The ancient weapon we seek is of Nathrezim make called 'Apocalypse', but we'll take what we can, and perhaps provide those of little use to the other Order Halls. A sort of gesture of good will."

The master of the Unholy snapped open the seal and devoured the information scribbled on the surface. While she did so, Mograine handed off the second roll to Lord Thorval.

"The second artifact is a demon weapon called the 'Maw of the Damned'. It is located on a Legion world, and I believe it could provide a great asset in our hands. Thorval, I trust you to select an appropriate raiding party to secure the artifact from the Legion's hands, and pave your way home in their blood."

Thorval inclined his head politely before reading his own instructions. "It will be so, Highlord."

"Good. When Nightsorrow returns from her mission, we will move onto the next phase of the Lich King's plan. And that is a matter for some discussion." Mograine seemed to hesitate for the first time during this briefing. "Part of the Lich King's plan against the Legion is to revive and assemble the Four Horsemen."

"The Four Horsemen?" Amal'Thazad echoed. Murmurs rippled throughout the assembled officers and Darion Mograine spoke up, cutting them off with his commanding tones.

"I understand the concerns that you all may carry towards such an undertaking. I too have my own set of reservations, but the Four Horsemen would be a valuable asset against our foe."

"Why do we need the Four Horsemen specifically? Surely these weapons will be enough once we've assembled them?" Thassarian inquired.

"If I may, Highlord?" Amal'Thazad interjected politely, Mograine gestured towards the Lich for him to continue. "The Four Horsemen are the peak of Necromantic arts. And their powers are not to be taken lightly. If one considers the Lich King to be a god, the Four Horsemen could be considered demigods sculpted by his hand. They are the most powerful form of Death Knight ever conceived. In fact, Death Knight may be an insufficient definition for them. Perhaps 'Avatar of Death' may be more appropriate?"

Lady Alistra rejoined the conversation, her orders rolled back up and held tightly in her fist. "If they are so powerful, then why not simply raise one of us as the new Four Horsemen? Surely its easier to enhance the soldiers already available and loyal to the order, rather than allow for the chance that the risen four would be difficult to persuade to our cause?"

"While that option would be preferable, the matter isn't as simple as that. The animation and magics that create a Horsemen differ on a fundamental level than that of regular Death Knights. It's not a matter of simply binding a soul to a corpse with necromancy, its a fundamental altering of that body and soul, imbuing it into an aspect of death itself."

"I am become death, destroyer of worlds." Thorval quoted the ancient saying and an air of grim agreement settled over the Knights.

"We will take care to consider who and what we raise as the Four Horsemen, but ultimately, the power to make that decision falls to the Lich King - and Nightsorrow as his champion." Highlord Mograine answered, "I understand this undertaking will be difficult, but I ask you all to stand with me. We will defeat the Legion, or we will resist to our last breath."

"Pardon the intrusion..." A human woman's voice interrupted, all the commanders present turned their attention to the new visitor.

It was Ophelia Nightsorrow, battle-worn and weary but standing. And at her sides were a pair of rune blades that chilled the very air around them, covering their metal in rime. Each and every Death Knight present could sense the power within the weapons, and more than that, they could sense the charge placed upon her. The Lich King's very own brand that inscribe on her very soul marked her as the enforcer of his will.

"I apologize for interrupting this meeting, but given my position it seems this business has to do with me as well."

"Ah, my treasured student!" Amal'Thazad raised his arms towards her, as though a father greeting a beloved child. "I am pleased you prevailed in your trials."

"Many thanks, master." Nightsorrow bowed her head to her teacher.

"One last matter." Highlord Mograine's voice cut through the commotion, he circled the table behind his commanders and moved to Nightsorrow's side. "The Lich King has named this Champion as his hand. As do I. By the Will of the Lich King, and upon my authority as Highlord, I bestow our highest honour upon Ophelia Nightsorrow. From this day forth, she as Wielder of the Blades of the Fallen Prince, shall henceforth by known as Deathlord of the Ebon Blade!"

An eruption of cheers sprung forth from the senior order members. The sound of them echoing throughout the necropolis. "You will all bow to her as you did to me! And carry out her will against the Legion!"

"You honour me, Highlord." Ophelia said quietly as the Death Knights cheered and howled their congratulations.

"Enjoy the moment, but remember there is much work to be done." Mograine warned her, "I'll be trusting you to act as the spear tip against the demon host."

"I shall not fail." She vowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Darion tells his brethren the scope and breath of his bargain with the Lich King. He has placed a guillotine over their heads to make them obey his commands. Not a great position to be in, but the LK wants to defeat the demons at any costs.
> 
> Also #TeamBlondDarion
> 
> I welcome feedback and criticism,
> 
> Aurora313


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